Here beats the black heart of my rancor
The speed of life dulls my nerve
I beat no drum for anything anymore
Might have more than I deserve

The golden age of being amused
Has turned into the modern life
And times of being confused
And I feel it too
When I'm alone in my room
Waiting for that light to blink
The little song I miss
There's a ghost that's singing

I saw somebody jump the turnstile at the station
He barely made the doors
And took a seat next to a stranger
I saw her eyes
As she brushed his body passing in the aisle
And I heard,
Where are you calling from tonight?

I don't dismiss it that I need it
To disappear in something loud
A few new faces fill the spaces
With a river of names
And all the names just filter out

This work can occupy my mind
But it won't convince my body
That I've been satisfied
And I'm most alive
And I'm most like myself
In my dreams your eyes connect
The miss remembered me
The ghost is singing

I saw somebody jump the turnstile in the station
Barely made the doors
And took a seat next to a stranger
I saw her eyes
As she brushed his body passing in the aisle
And I said
Where are you calling from tonight?
Where are you calling from tonight?
Where are you calling from tonight?

And when are you coming home?
When are you coming home?
When are you coming home?
When are you coming home?

I saw somebody jump the turnstile in the station
Barely made the doors
And took a seat next to a stranger
I saw her eyes
As she brushed his body passing in the aisle